


His Prayer

by IAmTheMaestro



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Romance, Twelve x Clara - Freeform, sort of angst i guess, whouffaldi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 17:29:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11994570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmTheMaestro/pseuds/IAmTheMaestro
Summary: " Now the Doctor finally closed his eyes for a long moment. Too long, Clara thought. 'Clara,' he sighed. He said it like it was a prayer, a lifeline. Like it was the only thing he was hanging onto in the moment. And maybe it was, the Doctor thought. It was. "The Doctor and his feelings. Such a new concept, and so old at the same time.





	His Prayer

Long fingers gently, lightly traced Clara’s face, brushing her sleep-messed hair from her eyes and tucking it behind her ear. She was so peaceful, looked even younger while asleep. Her eyelids fluttered momentarily, but remained closed for the moment. The hand faltered, but then brushed the backs of two fingers across her cheek, as if wiping invisible tears away from her face. Tenderly it was done, and yes, almost lovingly. In fact, it was lovingly. Although she didn't know.  
Clara stirred under the touch. She slowly opened her eyes and inhaled sharply but still quietly as she registered the sight.  
Large, grey-blue eyes staring back at her. A mess of silver curls slightly brushing her face. The Doctor held his right hand awkwardly in front of him, as if he had quickly retracted it. He was laying on his side, simply watching her. In her bed.  
“D-Doctor?” she whispered, groggy but taken slightly aback.  
The Doctor’s eyes widened. Not quite with embarrassment. The Doctor wasn't one to really get embarrassed. Innocently, almost vulnerably. The answer came in a strained whisper.  
“I'm not a good man, Clara.”  
Confused, she momentarily ignored the comment as she realized her current state. “Why are you in my bed, Doctor?” Clara couldn't keep the perplexement out of her voice, nor the flush of redness creeping up her face. Luckily, in the dark, it was barely visible.  
The Doctor sighed softly. He didn't answer. Instead, he brought his hand back up to cup her cheek again, fingers tangling in her hair. Hesitant, Clara gently took hold of his wrist, unsure of how to respond. “Doctor?” she repeated concernedly.  
Once again the Doctor repeated himself, still staring at her. “I'm not a good man, Clara. I'm not a good man.”  
“What are you- what are you saying? Of course you are, you're- you're the Doctor.” It was beyond just that, Clara knew, but couldn't figure out.  
“No, I'm not. And you don't know. Clara, I'm sorry, Clara. You don't know all of it. You barely know any at all.” The Doctor’s unfaltering gaze was staring to unsettle her.  
“What? What do I not know?”  
“Everything, Clara.”  
She stared back at him, searching his eyes for answers.  
“You don't know everything. You don't know anything,” he said, in the same worrying tone that Clara could never remember hearing.  
“Tell me, then, Doctor,” she started. “Tell me everything.”  
Now the Doctor finally closed his eyes for a long moment. Too long, Clara thought. “Clara,” he sighed. He said it like it was a prayer, a lifeline. Like it was the only thing he was hanging onto in the moment. And maybe it was, the Doctor thought. It was.  
“Doctor,” Clara echoed, and as he opened his eyes to look up at her again she pressed her hand to the back of his, which still rested in her hair.  
“I try too hard,” he began with yet another sigh. With some strange knowledge, she knew better than to question just yet. “I do. I really do try but then it just doesn't work. I'm doing something wrong, always doing something wrong, and I don't know what it is. I can never travel alone. And that's why. I need someone to tell me what it is. Someone to keep me from going to far, falling over the edge, someone who will hold tight onto me so it doesn't happen.”  
“What doesn't happen?” Clara asked softly, removing his hand and pressing it between both of hers.  
“The pain. The sadness, the suffering, the death. So that none of that has to happen.” He paused. “So that this doesn't happen.”  
And suddenly Clara saw it. In his eyes, so many hundreds of years, thousands of years of time and space and feelings. There was so much wonder and so much brilliance that it blocked the view of the regret, the pain, the guilt that the Doctor brought upon himself. So much of it.  
The Doctor had never been very big on “feelings.” He never brought them up; he constantly ignored them, pushing them down deeper. And with two hearts full of two millienia of emotions, eventually they would spill out someday, wouldn't they?  
The Doctor and his feelings. Such a new concept, that was so old at the same time.  
Abruptly Clara realized, as she observed his expression. So many emotions, so mixed together it was hard to decipher which was which and what was there.   
-someone who will hold tight onto me so it doesn't happen-  
And that was exactly what she did.  
She pulled him close to her, wrapping her arms around him, and felt him give a shuddering sigh into her shoulder. The Doctor had never been big on physical contact, either, but that impression was erased, at least for now, as he held onto her.  
“You are the most amazing madman the universe has ever known.” And it was true, straight from Clara’s heart. “You try so hard and you succeed most of the time. And some of the times, those rare times, you don't. But… it's okay. Because you have to see that sometimes those things happen. You can't save the whole universe in the nick of time, every time you go. Because… sometimes they can't be saved, and as much as it hurts, you have to accept it. You can't keep pushing emotions further and further down because someday, you're going to break like that. And when that happens, it will. But it won't have to. I won't let it. Yes, sometimes it happens, and it will, and it doesn't all have to be your fault.” The whispers were never anything more than that- just whispers. But somehow, they carried something much deeper, and both of them knew it.  
The Doctor buried his face in her shoulder again, and the words were muffled after the silence that followed in the few minutes after. But they were audible as the two of them drifted off again, peacefully, into a sleep that the Doctor knew he needed.  
“Clara, Clara. Thank you, my impossible girl.”


End file.
